


Sur la Piste des Bêtes Ignorées (On the Track of Unknown Animals)

by Lepak



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lepak/pseuds/Lepak
Summary: “Congratulations, handsome. We’ve made history. xoxo,” reads Chester over Harry’s shoulder.Harry spins around and clutches the letter to his chest, as if he’s been caught lifting pills from the evidence locker.Chester’s shit-eating grin widens. “Wow! You’ve like, tricked a blind woman into dating you. You dirty dog. So is she hot? Who is she?”“Your mother,” Harry says, glaring.- Harry gets the letter he's been expecting from Lena. He takes it well, definitely doesn't freak out, and definitely, definitely doesn't start obsessing over how he's gonna tell Kim.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 32
Kudos: 166





	Sur la Piste des Bêtes Ignorées (On the Track of Unknown Animals)

Harry slumps in his chair, bored out of his skull. No new cases have come in today, he’s already written up all the interesting ones, and worst of all, Kim’s out training the junior officers without him. He doesn’t get why Captain Pryce didn’t allow him to tag along. Kids want to have fun and listen to stories, the gorier the better. They don’t want to learn about 'police procedure' and 'decorum' and 'investigative methodology'. 

He’s built and demolished a paperclip tower, sharpened every pencil in the department, and cleaned the coffee maker in the breakroom. The eighth and last time he went to badger Oldboy at the communications desk, he was chased away by a stapler gun. He has _no one_ to talk to and _nothing_ to do. He’s going to _literally_ die of boredom. He might even have to do _paperwork._

The stack of unfinished reports glowers at him. Harry ignores it.

A plain brown envelope spins across his desk.

“Letter for you, El Tee,” Chester says, the station’s mailbag hanging off his lanky frame.

Harry picks it up. Fine, spidery writing spells out his name and the station address. He flips to the back and sees a note written in the same hand.

“Congratulations, handsome. We’ve made history. xoxo,” reads Chester over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry spins around and clutches the letter to his chest, as if he’s been caught lifting pills from the evidence locker. 

Chester’s shit-eating grin widens. “Wow! You’ve like, tricked a blind woman into dating you. You dirty dog. So is she hot? Who is she?” 

“Your mother,” Harry says, glaring.

“Holy shit, you saw that broad? Damn. Tell her to come home, I like, already bought milk and cigarettes.” Chester laughs and swings the mailbag, gently hitting Harry's side. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

“Like how I kept your mother. From you. Uh.”

“Sick comeback,” Chester calls over his shoulder, already walking away. “Join the circus, they’re looking for new clowns.”

Harry flips him off and swivels back to his desk. He turns the envelope over and over, palms prickling. He kind of wants to rip it open, but if it is what he thinks it is, he definitely wants Kim to open it first. Maybe it’s a good thing Kim’s away today, because there’s no way Harry would’ve been able to hide this.

God, when he _does_ give it to Kim, what does he say?

He needs distractions. He slips the envelope into a blazer pocket and picks up a pen. He’ll think about it later.

By the time he finally vanquishes his stack, the night shift is coming on. Harry stands and stretches, feeling his back crack.

“I heard that from here,” Judit says to his right, from the desk she shares with Vicquemare. Dark half-circles shadow her eyes, but she smiles at him.

“When you get to my age, your body starts betraying you in many small ways,” Harry says, rolling his neck and shoulders. “You’re staying late.”

“I had a few reports I needed to finish, but they’re done now.” She pats her significantly smaller stack.

Harry perches on the corner of his desk. “Anything interesting?”

“Only ‘THE FISHWIFE’S DEADLIEST CATCH’. Turns out she was spiking oysters to poison her cheating husband.”

“How do you spike oysters?” Harry’s stomach growls.

“By dissolving arsenic in hot sauce.” Judit cocks her head. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No. Wanna get kebab?”

“Yes, please. Lieutenant Kitsuragi mentioned you have a list?” She stands and pulls on her jacket.

“I have a _ranked_ list. We’ll go to the best one.” Harry hops off his desk. “Let’s swim, minnow.”

The kebab stand is tucked away in a side street, and isn’t much more than a low, squat window hacked into a wall. A plump woman fronts it, taking and dispensing both orders and change with an iron fist. Behind her, a vertical column of meat spins slowly on a spit, sizzling in its own fat and juices. A man shreds lettuce into fine strips. His long knife gleams. The line of hungry Revacholians snakes onto the main street.

“Harry, this is incredible,” Judit says, her mouth crammed with meat and bread.

“I know right?” Harry tears into his kebab. “It’s the white sauce. He puts something in it.”

Judit licks where the sauce has dripped onto her palm. “Garlic, cumin, lemon juice… There has to be something else. Do they make their own yoghurt?”

“No idea. I’ve been trying to wheedle the secret out of them for months. Thank you, Mrs. and Mr. Nebbou!” Harry shouts in the direction of the kebab stand. “You’re the best place in town!”

A thick, swarthy arm, carpeted shoulder to knuckle in black hair, looms out of the delivery window and gives Harry a thumbs up. Mrs. Nebbou waves.

Judit takes another bite. “How did you find this place, anyway?”

“Their kid went missing and me and Kim tracked her down. She’d fallen in with a gang and didn’t know how to get out. It all ended happily though.” Harry gestures with his half-eaten kebab. “She’s enrolled in the junior officer programme now.” Sauce splashes onto Harry’s shirt. “Ah, shit.”

“So _they_ were the ones who sent the whole roast goat to the station!”

“Yep. Also why our combo meals were half-off.” Harry tries to wipe the sauce off, but smears it all over himself instead. “Ah, shit.”

Judit chews thoughtfully. “I still dream about that mint dip.”

“That was Kim’s favourite, too.” He gives up on the stain and eyes the queue. “I should get him a kebab.”

“Are you meeting him after this?”

“Uh, yeah. We’re working on, uh, case stuff.” Harry shoves the rest of his kebab into his mouth.

“You two spend a lot of time together."  
  
Her tone is light and breezy, but she watches him, attentive to every shift in his body and face. Her eyes are clear and wide, like a cat’s. Harry remembers that Judit is _sharp,_ and a damn fine detective. He nods, chews, and tries not to choke.

“I think it’s nice,” Judit says, and she smiles encouragingly. “My girlfriend and I fought a lot when I first signed up, because we suddenly went from doing everything together to seeing each other twice a week, at best.” She takes a bite of her kebab. “You and the lieutenant don’t have that problem.”

Harry shakes his head, still chewing. A current of understanding passes between them, of recognition, of being _seen._

He swallows and says, “We have different ones. You’ve never experienced Kim with a hair up his ass about toothpaste stains. He goes on the _warpath_.”

“Ha! Sounds like me and Lucille about hair clogs. She always forgets to use the shower trap.”

Harry dumps the kebab wrapping into a trash container. “The two of you are doing okay?”

“Really great. We moved in together last spring.” She picks a bit of gristle from her front teeth and flicks it away. “Sorry about that. But yes, we have two cats and an apartment of our own. You and Lieutenant Kitsuragi should come over for dinner some time, we’re not too far from his place. Lucille makes this amazing lamb and date tagine.”

“He’dーwe’d love that. But are you still gonna call him Lieutenant Kitsuragi when we’re in your house?”

“It feels weird _not_ to. Kim,” she tries, and wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, really strange. You’re the only one who can. Or maybe the only one he allows.”

“And if I want to keep it that way I _should_ get him a kebab. Do you mind waiting for me?” He jerks his thumb towards the queue. “We can walk together after.”

“Happy to.”

\---

The walk is pleasant. Autumn has not displaced Summer entirely, so the night is cool instead of chilly. They chat about their active cases, Judit’s cats, exactly when Arno van Eyck sold out and how that ushered in the death of disco. When Harry realises that he’s done most of the talking about that last topic, he listens to Judit gush about her love for period radio dramas. 

"There's a whole studio _just_ for sound effects!" she says. "Imagine technicians crowded around the same microphone, rustling paper for dresses or flapping gloves for birds’ wings. And it's all done live!" 

“What do they use for gunshots?”

“A stapler gun, I think.”

“Oh, that’s… obvious now you’ve said it.”

“Wanna know what they use for guillotines?

“What?”

“They scrape a cleaver along the length of a steel pipe and then,” Judit chops downwards with her hand, “ _Ch-thunk._ Right into a head of cabbage.”

“No shit? That’s disco!”

“Right?” She twinkles with delight. “And to simulate breaking bones, they snap celery.”

“They’ve gotta be eating a lot of salad.”

“This is where I turn off,” Judit says, stopping at the corner of Inker Street and Blackhill Lane. She grins at him, the streetlights deepening her dimples. “Thanks for the kebab, Harry. And the walk. This week’s been tough but tonight really helped.”

“Anytime, minnow. I’ll let you know about dinner.” He wants to ask her something, but isn’t sure how to say it.

She sees him hesitate and cocks her head. “Did you want something?”

“Yeah, kind of.” He marshals his thoughts, slots the right words into the right order, and takes a deep breath. 

“Who was the person I was before Martinaise?”

Judit’s face falls. Harry’s heart sinks. That’s not a good sign.

She looks down at the scarred pavement. “It’s better to leave the past in the past,” she says, and kicks a pebble with the side of her boot. They watch it skitter onto the asphalt. 

“That bad, huh?” he sighs. “I’m sorry. For everything heーI did.”

Judit looks at him, smiling sadly. “You were never horrible to me, personally. But you were in a lot of pain and wanted everyone to know it.” She laces her fingers together, arms at her front. “Let’s just say the old Harry wouldn’t have done any of this, been as funny or as kind. You’re much happier now, and I think the Lieutenant is, too. You’re good for each other.”

Harry nods, and runs a hand through his hair. “Let’s keep that miserable old fuck buried, then.”

“Please,” she laughs.

“Okay. Thanks for the talk. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harry raises his fist.

Judit bumps it. “See you at the station.”

Harry spends the rest of the way cursing himself for not asking Judit to help him figure out how he’s going to tell Kim. The envelope lies crisp and hidden in his jacket pocket. It feels like a landmine, primed to blow. The kebab swings in its plastic bag. 

“If the letter is a landmine, what does that make the kebab?” his brain asks. His thoughts chime in:

\- A lodestone that points home.

\- A symbol of your undying devotion, milord.

\- It’s just hot, wet meat wrapped in bread, don’t overthink it.

\- The bread the Nobbous use is _pide_ , a flatbread which is a staple in the Southern Islands.

\- SECOND DINNER!!

“Please shut up, all of you,” Harry mutters under his breath.

\- Don’t tell _us_ to shut up! We _are_ you. We could shut this shit down at anytime, asshole, and then where would you be?

“Catatonic and pissing myself in a sewer,” Harry says, “Or, this time last year. Fuck off, intrusive thoughts. If I go down, you’re all dead too.”

His thoughts quieten but they still simmer angrily in his brain. Harry ignores them and rehearses what he’s going to say.

“Hey, Kim, got something for youーno. Got something _for_ youーno. _I_ got something for _youー_ no.” 

He turns onto Kim’s street. “ _Something_ forーno. _Some_ thing for you. That doesn’t even make sense, shitting fuck.”

He slows down as he approaches Kim’s house. 

“Hey, read thisーno. Kim, something came for you todayーno. Kim, a presentーno. Hey, Kim, reach into my pocket.” He leans his head against the door. “What am I, a male model in a titty mag? Fucking stupid.” 

His heart pounds in his ears. Maybe the letter will speak for itself? Maybe Kim will just _get it_. Keys jingle as he fishes them out of a trouser pocket. He weighs them in his palm.

Or maybe he could turn around, walk back the way he came, and keep walking until he disappeared into the city. Revachol, mother-of-all, what’s one more fugitive behind her walls?

Ah, fuck it. Harry slides the key into the lock and turns. He’ll wing it.

“I’m home,” he says, stepping over the threshold. A lamp casts a warm glow through the living room, but the bedroom lights are dark. Kim’s jacket hangs off the back of a chair. He’s in, but may be asleep? Harry locks the door behind him.

Kim sits up from the sofa, the open book on his chest slipping to the floor with a _thump._

“Whoops,” he says, and yawns. “Hello, Harry.” 

His hair is mussed, his left cheek creased where it pressed against the cushion cover seams, and Harry loves him more than anything else in the world.

“Morning, Kim. Sorry for waking you,” Harry bends to kiss him.

Kim tilts his face to his. “Don’t be.”

“Got you dinner,” Harry says once they’ve broken away. “Are you hungry?”

“I can eat.” Kim sniffs the stain on Harry’s shirt. “Is that from the Nebbous?”

“No wonder you were the ace of 57. Need a plate?”

“No need.” 

“Free yourself from the tyranny of dishes,” Harry says, as Kim carefully peels the foil.

Kim lifts the kebab in the air like he’s giving a toast. “Liberté,” he declares, and bites into it.

“How were the junior officers?” Harry sits next to Kim. Small talk will give him an opening to bring up the letter, he figures.

“They were incredibly enthusiastic and incredibly exhausting. But surprisingly effective.” Kim eats methodically, taking small bites to keep the sauce from dripping onto his hands. “Sylia Nebbou sends her regards.”

“Surely not in those words.”

“No, you’re correct. She performed a complicated hand slapping ritual which I shall not repeat, then asked me to give you ‘mad ups’.” 

Harry can practically hear the quotation marks clanging into place. “You sound _so incredibly old_ , Kim.”

“Peer pressure has no effect on me, detective.” Kim says primly, and tears another foil section off his kebab.

Harry laughs and knocks their knees together. “So she’s doing well then?”

“She’s the star of this intake. An asset to the RCM if she chooses to stay.”

“I hope she does.”

“So do I.”

“Oh yeah, Minot invited us over for dinner. Both of us. Together.”

Kim finishes chewing and swallowing before he replies. “That’s nice of her. I’ll have to check the rota but I think we have the same day off coming up soon. I’d love to finally meet Lucille.”

“Wait, you knew she had a girlfriend?” Harry faces Kim. “How did you know she had a girlfriend?”

“She told me. We’re two homo-sexual cops in the same _macho_ department. We talk.”

“Is recognising other homo-sexuals something you just know?”

“We have a special handshake and pass code. Remind me to teach you.” Kim takes another bite. “No, there’s no definite way to tell. Sometimes it’s obvious, other times it’s not. You learn how to feel it out.” 

“Huh.” Harry flops back against the sofa and stares at the ceiling. The paint above the window is starting to crack.

“Did you tell her about us?” he asks, looking at Kim out of the corner of his eye.

Kim shakes his head. “I never would without your permission, Harry. You have equal control over who knows about our relationship.” 

Harry nods, and sits upright. “I may have told Minot. Or she deduced it and I confirmed it.”

“She’s an excellent detective.” He crumples the kebab wrapping into a ball. “We are in each other’s confidences, so it’s alright if she knows.”

“This is so _complicated_.”

“Welcome to the homo-sexual underground,” Kim says, leaning in to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Thank you for dinner. I’m going to get ready for bed.” 

Harry follows Kim into the kitchen, the envelope burning a hole in his pocket. He leans against the doorway and watches. He has forgotten so much of his life that he wants to remember everything: how the foil ball bounces off the rim of the trash container and falls into it; the sound of water rushing from the faucet; the soap’s sharp citrus smell. How Kim leans his weight on one leg, socked feet flat on the floor; his dark fine hair, buzzed short above his ears and at the back of his head; the muscles in his arms tensing beneath his skin; Kim wiping his hands on a faded blue towel; Kim hanging it up to dry; Kim turning to look at him; Kim.

Wordlessly, Harry holds out the envelope.

Kim takes it and reads the note. He looks back at Harry, eyebrow raised.

“Open it,” Harry says.

Kim grabs a knife from the drying rack and carefully tears the envelope open. He unfolds the letter, starts reading.

“Hmm, the board of the Société Cryptozoologique de Revachol is effusive. So it’s official then, the Insulindian Phasmid has been recognised as its own species. Congratulations, Harry."

“ _W_ _e_ did it, Kim. Did you see its scientific name?”

“It was sweet of Morell to name it after his wife.”

“WHAT?!” Harry snatches the letter. “ _Insulindinae Lenae?!_ That son-of-a-bitch. He _asked_ me to name it!”

Kim pushes up his glasses. “This wasn’t your suggestion, then.” 

“It’s supposed to be Insulindinae _K_ _itsuragia_. I even went to the library to check naming conventions!” Harry grits his teeth and crushes the letter. "Morell, you _bastard."_

Kim pries it from Harry’s grip. 

“I can’t blame him for naming it after Lena,” he says, smoothing the paper on the counter. “He wanted the same thing you did.”

“He wants to be famous,” Harry seethes. “He wants to _hog_ the _limelight_.”

Kim steps close and adjusts the lapels of Harry’s blazer, evening them out. “He wants to commemorate his partner. To thank her for the decades she spent by his side, believing in him and their work when no one else did.” He places his palms on Harry’s chest and spreads his fingers, covering the stain.

Kim looks into Harry’s eyes. “He’s saying, ‘I love you.’ Isn’t that what you wanted to say, too?”

Harry sighs and presses their foreheads together. “Yes. I do love you.” His hands go to Kim’s hips. “I also just. Wanted everyone to know you were there. Without you, I never would’ve made it.”

“There’s always the photo.”

“You’re not in it though.”

“No, but I took it.” Kim pulls away slightly and cups Harry’s face. “They’re seeing me see you.”

“Covered in mud and blood, coming down from a week-long, self-annihilating bender.” Harry smiles faintly.

Kim shakes his head once. “No. Fearless. Gentle. Indefatigable. Magnificent. I love _you,_ Harry. With my breath, my blood, my bones.”

Harry kisses him. It’s all he can do. He lifts Kim onto the counter, wrings everything he’s feeling into his lips and tongue.

“More than the Kineema?” Harry asks, when they’ve temporarily stopped kissing.

Kim grins. “More than a _fleet_ of Kineemas,” he says, and begins to unbutton Harry’s shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> mad ups to @meaculpa for suggesting the title. It's a real book by Bernard Heuvelmans, and it launched the field of cryptozoology.


End file.
